


Yaatra

by Silberias



Category: Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Domestic Fluff, Early Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Jalal dips his toe into syncretism like one does, Jalal frets, Jalal gets into debates, Sheikh Salim makes a cameo, non-fatal assassination attempt, recovery from major injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: Jalal couldn't dare look at his wife as he now dueled with his brother--and he tried not to stare at the bright blood on his brother's weapon.The blood of the Prime Minister of Hindustan, a man he had long considered a father.The blood of the Empress of Hindustan, his wife whom he was just now beginning to love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllegoriesInMediasRes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Samanantar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313603) by [AllegoriesInMediasRes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes). 



> Inspired by [Samanantar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313603b) by AllegoriesInMediasRes. I adored your story but I really wanted more, and short of annoying you & begging for more of your wonderful fic I knew I had to buckle up and write some of my own. I only hope that you enjoy it, because I have loved reading your various one-shots so very much!
> 
> I also had a ton of help from Avani, and I love you to pieces for your help--thank you so much!!   
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Why would his brother wear a sword to what was a meeting of councilors?_

On what proved to be a fateful day Jalal had called for his wife to meet with Todar Mal and Khan Baba, as well as he himself. He had decided she would be given greater control over the palace expenditures, including overseeing the management of the bazaar and some of the rents paid by the farmers whose land surrounded the Red Fort. There was no way to truly make her see she was as safe and valued as she would have been in Rajputana--or even perhaps moreso, a petulant part of him insisted--without taking care to _show_ it to her. She had a head for games of sums and figures, he'd heard from Ni'mat, and delighted in quickly announcing the answers of word-riddles concerning the same. That same petulant part of him rested back on this information, smug that Jodhaa would have been wasted on some Rajput prince. A woman of such grace, beauty, and sharp intelligence ought to live her life as an empress.

His wife longed for freedom, though, and while true freedom was not in his power to give her Jalal knew that being entrusted with the household and the palace would be its own kind of freedom.

Badi Ami was furious with him but at some point the mother must bow away in deference to her son's wife. It was time he stood upon his own feet and built his own life, as his father and grandfather before him. He could also see, though it pained him, that Jodhaa struggled to claim her rightful place as empress while Elder Mother controlled so much around the palace. Maham Anga had mothered an emperor, but it was of Jodhaa that the next one must be born.

Their meeting commenced quietly, the men complimenting his wife on her fine cooking on the feast day of Pir and giving encouragement regarding her new responsibilities. The thick curtain that separated them from her obscured whatever her face might betray, but her voice had a pleased and happy tone as she accepted their praise.

As was traditional when Jalal attended meetings requiring the review of various documents, Khan Baba read out the letter or proclamation and allowed Jalal to reply or make corrections as necessary. He had never been embarrassed that the letters rearranged themselves and danced before his eyes but he and his advisors had always found ways of working around the issue so that none could decide it a weakness to be exploited.

Jodhaa sat still and poised, one hand on her lap and the other clasping the edge of her veil, listening quietly as they moved on to more serious matters. He found himself watching her through the curtain more than he meant to, though he tried to pay attention to what the two other men were telling him. Jalal could almost make out her shy smile when she seemed to catch him looking at her before she once again bent her face away from him. Allah, how he longed for her to look up at him, for minutes or hours or days he didn't care.

"And now, Shahenshah, there is a matter to do with the taxes of Malwa," Khan Baba was saying, dragging Jalal's attention to the old man, "there is a problem with the accounting for the taxes and one that cannot be overlooked as an error of a careless clerk. An embezzlement, my lord, and cheating not only the royal coffers of their due but also heaping more burdensome suffering on the people of Malwa. Mallika-e-Hindustan has done much to brighten the image of us Mughals in the eyes of the world but what is happening here cannot continue."

"Who oversees Malwa now, my lord?" Jodhaa's voice was soft and pure as a bell in the slightly awkward silence following the Prime Minister's words. Jalal focused his eyes on the far wall, swallowing thickly as he did so and Khan Baba also maintained a similar posture and reaction. It was Todar Mal who finally cleared his throat and announced:

"It is Adham Khan who oversees Malwa, Mallika," he said squarely. He did not hesitate even as Jalal's fingers tightened on his knees as he named the man a traitor to the crown, a thief at the very least.

"I have...I have always suspected him," Khan Baba found his voice finally and looked meaningfully at Jalal as he spoke, "and today I have proof--" as he paused for another breath a servant quietly entered and announced that Adham Khan was come and awaited an audience with the prime minister most anxiously. Jalal gave permission and they each made their peace with whatever was about to be said, at least from the subtle straightening of spines and leveling of shoulders.

"Shahenshah, Shamsuddin, Lord Todar Mal," Adham greeted the men, purposefully ignoring the Empress where she sat obscured by the lace and silk curtain.

"Shahenshah, I must praise the auditing skills of your  ministers, and their skill at revenue collection," he continued, "they count so well!" Jalal studied his brother, seeing a great deal of strain in his body as he spoke. Allah might have made letters dance like sufis before his eyes, but people were often as clear as water to him.

"But you will find that when it comes to my province of Malwa you will have to ignore certain figures--the Emperor must consider them as a gift to me, a sign of a brother's love and favor."

"You overstep yourself, Adham," Khan Baba growled back, "and forget your responsibilities to your Emperor, ones that cannot be overlooked even by a brother of blood--let alone milk. You have been extorting the people of Malwa, abusing their coffers as much as you have abused their women and captured soldiers and lands."

Why would his brother wear a sword to what was a meeting of councilors?

"Khan Baba, I advise you not to interfere with my affairs, I am the Emperor's--" why would he bring a sword, especially one worn above his surcoat--

"--Adham Khan! Challenging the Prime Minister alone," Jalal continued to stare at the weapon slung across his brother's chest as Khan Baba spoke, puzzling over it, "never mind _beneath the gaze of the Emperor,_ is akin to challenging the Emperor himself. It is--"

_A sword._

_A gathering a few of the most prominent and powerful people in the empire--a sword-- **a sword**. _

Jalal was reaching for his own weapon, a sword never far from reach but never openly displayed in council meetings, even as he watched Adham swiftly draw his blade and stab Khan Baba straight through. It happened incredibly quickly but it also seemed as if time slowed down, he could see the agony shoot across the old man's face, he could hear Jodhaa scream, the shout of Todar Mal as the man scrambled backwards away from the attack.

Adham yanked his blade free from Khan Baba's body, his eyes wild as he searched for another target in his anger and madness. Jalal felt time come to a full stop as his brother's eyes darted around the room and settled on the curtain where the Empress sat in purdah, his long legs taking him the few steps necessary to slash at the fabric. Jodhaa's next scream ripped a hole through Jalal's heart when the curtain came down over her body, torn from its hangings. She had her hands up to protect heself while trying to scramble backwards as well as escape the fabric she was trapped under. Jodhaa could not escape, though, for Adham planted his boot firmly where her skirts fanned out around her legs and immobilized her.

His brother swung once, twice, thrice--and every time he struck the white curtain seemed to bloom red.

Jalal was almost there--almost able to cross blades with his brother--when with a fierce shout Adham ran his victim through. Jalal would never, not if he lived to be a hundred in seven different times, forget the short, choked gasp of pain his wife made nor how the shape of her body beneath the curtain went limp as Adham turned his rage now to Jalal himself.

Jalal couldn't dare look at his wife as he now dueled with his brother--and he tried not to stare at the bright blood on his brother's weapon.

The blood of the Prime Minister of Hindustan, a man he had long considered a father.

The blood of the Empress of Hindustan, his wife whom he was just now beginning to love.

Adham was wild and uncontrolled in his movements, Jalal was not and he quickly subdued his elder brother and ordered that he be taken to the highest part of the palace and tied up by his arms so his toes only barely touched ground. Once Adham had been dragged away Jalal shut his eyes tightly and heaved in a sob as he implored Allah to give some mercy today--to leave the breath of life still in his wife and his almost-father. When he opened his eyes he cleared his throat, ignoring the weeping of servants and women, as he made his way back into the Prime Minister's council chamber.

Inside he found Todar Mal pressing a wadded section of the curtain to the wound on Jodhaa's chest, staunching her life blood as it tried to flood out of her. Khan Baba lay close by, slumped and motionless, his eyes open and seeing paradise. Jodhaa was still breathing though, with little moans of pain and fear. She was still living, not dead--and Jalal shouted that if a doctor was not brought to his side immediately that he would burn the Red Fort to the ground with all souls locked inside its walls before midday. One of the guards soon informed him the doctors were _all_ on their way, but he hardly heard the man as he wrapped first one then the other of Jodhaa's hands with her veil--torn in two to accommodate the need for make-shift bandages.

She was deathly pale, especially covered in blood as she was.

"Jodhaa, my wife, you must be strong," he murmured over and over to her, hating himself for squeezing one of her injured hands whenever her eyes drooped a little, "I know it hurts, but you must be strong."

Adham had stabbed her high in the shoulder, hopefully higher than her lung but lower than the vein that snaked through her underarm. Against all of the other horrific things he was feeling, Jalal felt a surge of pride that she had managed to divert a killing blow. He had been sure that Adham had pierced her heart. He refused to remember that the wound may yet prove mortal by infection or blood loss.

"Shahenshah, allow us room to work," one of the doctors implored him, "the Empress has lost a lot of blood and we must help her through it."

"You must live, my lady, for you are dear to me," he whispered to her before being urged to stand away from where she lay.

"Whatever you must do, see it done--no rule is too sacred to bar your treatments. She must live," he commanded the doctors as he was escorted out of the impromptu sick-room, knowing it was a feeble demand. Allah would choose her fate, not the Emperor of Hindustan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He held his wife's hand, injured and wrapped in bandages, all night and did not let go even in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos so far, I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

Adham awaited his justice.

He called Todar Mal to his side as well as Maham Anga, Chughtai Khan, and a dozen soldiers.

"Brother, it was the only way--" Adham managed to say as soon as the soldiers cut the rope holding him up. His arms were too weak to move, so he knelt before them and could not even gesture in his defence.

"You are no brother of mine as of this morning. Not when you spilled the blood of the Prime Minister and the Empress in the same minute and on the same sword. I renounce you and I revoke all grants, titles, styles, and considerations that may have been bestowed on or implied to you."

Maham Anga stared at the ground just before Adham's feet and quietly spoke:

"You are just, Shahenshah, to show such mercy to the one named Adham Khan."

"I am not finished. I wish to better understand why this, the path of slaughter, was the only way. As Lord Todar Mal is my witness and Allah above in judgment you drew your blade against not only Khan Baba but also the defenseless Mallika-e-Hindustan. The man who was a father to me, and the woman who will carry on my line."

"Khan Baba took my place as your advisor, he reached too high for a man so old, and your Rajput pet is no more your wife than my horse is, according to my mother. In Malwa I was only taking what a brother is owed, and doing it as a true Mughal _ought_ to. They made you soft, brother, I've made you strong. Mother told me--" Adham stumbled then, eyes darting towards Badi Ami for a telling moment that was naked in its desperation. Jalal could see them perfectly, then, could see much that he had been blind to over years.

They had meant for him to be their puppet on strings--and when he had not bowed and waved as a puppet ought they sought to correct the problem. _They_.

Only Maham Anga had known in advance that Jodhaa would be attending this morning's meeting.

Adham had brought a sword.

Jalal quietly instructed that Badi Ami be taken to her chambers and put under guard and did not allow her to say goodbye to Adham before she was led away. He let no word pass his lips of what he had in store for his milk brother, and once Badi Ami was well away he stepped forward to look into Adham's eyes. Adham had been taller than him his whole life but now his brother was on his knees, looking up at Jalal.

"Brother," he murmured, bending down and cradling Adham's gaunt face, sweeping the blades of his thumbs over his foster brother's high cheek bones and pressing a kiss to his hairline, "I shall miss you." And then Jalal backed away and ordered Adham thrown from the tower of the palace. He held his brother's eyes right up until the soldier's threw him over the wall, tears streaking hot down his cheeks as Adham screamed. Jalal then ordered that Adham be thrown down multiple times even though the first fall ended his brother's life. Only Chughtai Khan, old veteran that he was, did not seem green around the mouth at the end of the exercise.

The doctors had kept Jodhaa alive, he found when he returned to Khan Baba's chambers, but she had fallen unconscious soon after he'd left her side and had not yet awoken from her faint. Jalal sat down in a daze beside her, just watching her shallow breaths lift her chest--until he realized with a start that he must pray for her.

With a murmured instruction that he should be summoned if her condition changed at all Jalal's legs carried him unerringly to his wife's chambers. He slipped his feet out of his shoes and knelt on the rug that lay before the idol in her temple room. For several long moments he stared at the instruments of Jodhaa's religion, recalling the melodies of her songs and her movements as she worshipped. Her songs had reached _someone's_ ears, for she had not bled out immediately from her wounds and she had had the strength to divert a killing blow delivered by an experienced warrior.

Slowly he prepared himself for his own prayers under the watchful and playful eyes of Lord Krishna and when Jalal closed his eyes he hummed the melody of one of Jodhaa's songs. He bent his mind towards his gratitude to Allah for preserving Jodhaa's life. He lamented the loss of Khan Baba, and asked Allah to show him the path forward now that a father, a mother, and a brother were deprived of him in some fashion or other. He prayed hard that Jodhaa woke soon, that her strength returned, that infection did not set in. He prayed she would smile again.

The heat of the day rose up around him but he stayed still. He overcame the need for food and water, ignoring his thirst and a stitch in his stomach. His knees ached, his shoulders ached, his back and arms ached, but Jalal swallowed away the discomfort and continued his prayers. When his mind shied too close to the images of Khan Baba covered in blood, his face etched with pain, he put the idol's face into his minds eye and hummed one of Jodhaa's songs. If his wife was right and he was wrong, unlikely, then Khan Baba would be returned to a great and princely status soon for he had lived his life justly and honorably. If Jalal was right and his wife was wrong, more likely, then Khan Baba had died a martyr's death and walked in paradise now.

"Shahenshah, Mallika has woken, she is frightened," Ni'mat fretted gently, not daring to step into the little temple room. Jalal's arms creaked as he concluded his prayer, and his legs screamed at him as he stood up. The sun was red in the sky as it headed westwards.

"What do the doctors say?"

"That she has stopped bleeding, and if Allah favors her then she will not succumb to fever. They say she is blessed."

He was halfway to the Prime Minister's chambers when he realized his shoes and everything else had been left behind. It was not the first time he'd been distracted by his wife and left to wander his palace barefoot and strangely enough he hoped it would not be the last time.

The doctors were all grave faced when he entered the impromptu sick-room but they did not have bad news for him. Quite the opposite, actually. As several servants hoisted up a new curtain to preserve the Empress' dignity they explained what had been done and what yet remained of his wife's ordeal. Jalal peeked through a gap in the fabric, listening intently to them as he looked down at Jodhaa.

"The Empress is in a great deal of pain but she should survive this wound many years. The injury has left her too delicate to move, though, so we recommend that whatever belongings will bring her comfort be brought here. Once she has had some time to heal, a week at least, she will be able to return to her chambers in the women's palace to recover fully."

Jodhaa was awake, her eyes bleary, as the men spoke to him. She had her head propped up on a low pillow, her arms wrapped in bandages and her shoulder and chest similarly bound up. The room smelled strongly of bhang leaves, their musky sweetness a strong counter point to the lingering scent of blood.

"What have you given her for the pain?"

"A tincture of bhang to dull it as much as possible, and rose oil infused with the same has been pressed against the wounds," one of the grave faced men said, "it will be refreshed at each changing of the bandages. The Empress declined opium." Jalal nodded and then dismissed everyone save one of the doctors from the room. The last physician was instructed to wait at the door, to summon the others should they be again required. Then, only barely observed, the Emperor of Hindustan parted the curtain and knelt at his wife's side.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lady," he murmured, gently touching her little finger where it peeked out from the linen wrappings. Jodhaa's eyes were slow to meet his but she twitched her pinky towards him as she met his gaze. "You were victim to my blindness. Had my vison been clear this would not have happened."

"He was your brother. You could have had no idea. Elder brothers are supposed to be," she took a deep breath and whimpered as it jostled her stab wound, "they are supposed to be your champion in life. Especially foster brothers." Jalal felt tears well up in his eyes, hot and painful, and reared his head back so they did not fall. He stared at the far wall, then, as he spoke so that he could not see her fright and pain at his next words. It was a struggle to speak but it was also his duty to do so.

"It--I saw--he was told of today's meeting, coldly pointed at you and at Khan Baba like a cannon, and fired just as mercilessly. He did not attack with a dagger, kept at his waist and overlooked by all, but with a sword. It is only Allah's blessing that saved your life, for you were surely meant to die by Adham's blade today."

He almost jumped out of his skin when she put her whole hand, bandages and all, into his and squeezed gently. She had a small smile for him when he looked down at her. It was a sad one, but she did not say anything more. The bhang was probably leaving her a little fuzzy, as it was intended to, and he decided not to speak about his own distress. _He_ had not been stabbed today, and the man who had done it would harm them no more.

"Your feet are bare," she whispered, eyes having slid away from his face to inspect the rest of him. Perhaps wondering what wounds he'd gained from his fight with Adham. Jalal blushed deeply but did not withdraw from her, holding her hand gingerly to avoid pressing on the places the sword had sliced her open.

"I was praying," he finally replied, focusing again on the far wall, "I could be of no other help, so I went to your temple and prayed to Allah there. Your Lord Krishna was amiable enough company. I--I did not touch anything." He was not used to feeling the least bit embarrassed, usually being in control of any and all situations presented before him. He had perhaps broken some manner of trust by invading her personal space by himself, though, and it sat in his stomach like poison.

Jodhaa hummed an acknowlegment of his words, now stroking her thumb along the side of his index finger. Perhaps somewhere his heart was still praying, still shocked and grieving, and Jalal found himself humming another one of her songs, staring at nothing while she held his hand. He'd not learned all the words yet and did not voice them, but soon enough his wife was softly singing along--going slower on the words and melody where his own voice was unsure. They passed the afternoon and then the evening that way, or sometimes in silence when Jodhaa's eyes slipped closed in a fitful doze. When the doctors needed to check on her they worked around him, somehow seeing that he was not to be moved from his vigil. Her condition did not worsen, but her pain remained constant and just before sunset they plied her with another tincture of bhang leaves.

When night truly fell Chughtai Khan arranged for a soldier's sleeping mat to be laid out next to the makeshift bed where Jodhaa rested, and Jalal made a note that he would have to give both official and personal thanks to the old warrior. If any of the soldiers, guards, or doctors had any thoughts about the dagger and sword Jalal lay at his side they none of them spoke up about those thoughts. Who knew if the assassin had meant to also kill the Emperor? The man had murdered the Prime Minister, had gravely wounded the Empress, and he might not have been working alone.

He held his wife's hand, injured and wrapped in bandages, all night and did not let go even in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Empress already owes you love, affection, intimacy, and children--and now you've saved her life, Jalal," Badi Ami urged now.

The morning dawned with a meeting with what remained of his council after the death of the Prime Minister and the house-arrest of Maham Anga. He left Jodhaa's side reluctantly, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingertips. She was asleep, fitful but resting, and did not wake even as he gingerly sat up to go.

There were funeral arrangements to make for both his foster-brother and his foster-father, and he would need to contemplate who should be named Atagai Khan's replacement. He would also need a new lord for Malwa as well as consider who should take the place of Maham Anga at court. Jalal did not often make his subjects suffer for scandals caused by their family members but he could not make himself believe that Badi Ami had nothing to do with Adham's appearance the day before. An advisor that could not be trusted could no longer be an advisor, could no longer be allowed to bend the Emperor's ear, and must lose any choice place they occupied at court.

He went to Maham Anga, intending to tell her himself. To call her Badi Ami one last time.

She had not left her bed, sitting in stunned repose the whole day before and all night, according to one of her ladies when he entered her rooms. Jalal had never seen her this way, shellshocked and silent. She had been a mother to him, a woman who always had knowledge and wisdom to impart if he only slowed his steps enough to listen to her. She had answered his questions all his life--how old should he be before he married? What offer of peace towards Hindu kings should he, a Muslim, make? How long would a parrot live? A tiger? Why was the sky blue during the day and a purple so dark it was black at night? How did the saints commune with Allah? Every one of these and so many more she had answered, patient and sometimes a even a little playfully.

Jalal only had one question for her now, though.

"Why, Badi Ami?"

And she did not have an answer this time. Her eyes overflowed with tears but she did not answer his question. Did not even acknowledge that he had spoken. Jalal felt righteous fury wash over his head and had to fight through it to stay calm. It appeared she had ordered the murders of the Prime Minister and the Empress, but that may not be the truth. She had nursed him and raised him, and surely she knew his heart. Surely she knew it would break.

"Badi Ami, if you cannot answer me I must send you away. You must leave Agra. Adham has been punished for his crimes, and now I only wish to know _why_."

"Tomorrow, dear boy. Tomorrow," she said after many moments of silent stillness, patting his cheek without looking at him.

"Today, Badi Ami, today," he replied, a tear streaking hot down his cheek. Finally she met his eyes, grief and misery plain on her face now.

"How could you believe your Badi Ami now, after what Adham has done? No, my child, no matter what I might say now it is all in the past. The only proof I have is called into question by what has happened. You are strong," she said, touching his cheek gently, "you will survive anything that comes your way. You both are."

Her words unsettled him but no matter how he tried Jalal could not draw much more from her. She only repeated that he was strong enough to survive, that at least she had ensured that, and that he had done what was right with Adham. It brought tears to his eyes and though it was against all of her training in poise and a calm demeanor Jalal found himself weeping at her knee like a child. Adham had been so scared as the guards dragged him to the edge of the roof--but how had his brother believed his punishment would be anything but death?

Badi Ami combed her fingers through his hair as they sat quietly together.

"Make sure that your wife understands the debt she owes you," she said when he finally stood to leave her, to attend to his other responsibilities.

"She owes me nothing," he replied quietly, not looking up from where his gaze fell to the floor, "only that she must live for I commanded her to."

"The Empress already owes you love, affection, intimacy, and children--and now you've saved her life, Jalal," Badi Ami urged now, seeming to momentarily forget that she was no longer to be one of his cherished advisors. Jalal shook his head and bent to kiss her forehead before taking his leave of her. The purdah curtain, sparking red with every blow, flashed in the forefront of his mind and had his steps hurrying to his appointments with Chughtai Khan and others. The sooner he met with them the sooner he might return to Jodhaa.

The noon prayer was called as he walked through the gardens and Jalal felt relief course through him--his mind was so unsettled, he desperately needed to find some respite. Mindful of his robes he knelt and readied for his devotions. Though the last day had been filled with pain and fear, Allah was greater than those. This belief gave him the patience to get through the rest of his afternoon appointments, the strength to sit at his wife's side as she slept and not worry himself sick over her, and the calmness to lay his head back and close his eyes for sleep that evening.

Jodhaa's nightmare woke him, though. She twitched and jerked in her sleep, whimpering as she angered her wounds. Jalal sat paralyzed watching her in the dim light of a few candles--before he reached out and laid his hands firmly on her waist and uninjured shoulder, murmuring softly that she was safe, he would protect her. That one of the physicians watched over this interaction he didn't pay any heed to in the moment, only seeking to console his wife.

Eventually her eyes fluttered open, staying fixed on his as he moved to rest on one elbow and stroked the side of her face with his free hand.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered, not moving a muscle.

"There is nothing to apologize for. I am your companion in all things," he replied, his voice just as soft. They said nothing more for several minutes, only taking in the silence of the night around them.

"He was coming for me, but he--he--you were lying there, murdered, he said it was my fault," Jodhaa finally spoke, her voice thick with unshed tears, "he said I had as good as killed you myself, that..."

Jalal did not interrupt her, only gently slid his hand to cup her cheek, as she shared her nightmare with him. The mind could conjure terrible things he well knew. He wanted to tell her that if one of his advisors ever murdered him it would not be because of her--but there were men in his court even now who grumbled and wished for him to marry their daughters who had been raised good Muslims. There were men who believed he ought to marry again and leave Jodhaa childless, ensure that none of her Hindu blood entered his line. Such men were not essentially disloyal, but such talk sometimes led to actions of rebellion and its ilk.

"We cannot read the thoughts of those around us, we may only hope they wish us well," he eventually said, "I wish _you_ well, I wish you restful nights and a quick recovery. I wish you happiness." This last he said carefully, painfully insecure about his own ability to make her happy, and his nerves stopped up his throat before more nonsense could escape. Jodhaa didn't say anything, only leaned in to where his hand pressed against her cheek.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I apologize if you have been lonely," he said quietly, making his way through to her and kneeling at her side, "my thoughts have been too much occupied with other things. Hopefully you can forgive me?"

The royal physicians did not like that he tethered himself so tightly to his wife's side each night, but they had already used his council meetings and his appearances at court against him to pry him from her during the day. Jalal was attentive to the extreme in his dealings each day, his usual businesslike demeanor even quicker and cooler than ever before, and even old Chughtai Khan now voiced his thoughts about the change. He did not censure, only advised as they sparred a few days after the incident:

"You are allowed to take time for your family. No man would be judged harshly for spending an afternoon with his wife as she recovered from some illness, let alone an attempted murder. The Empress would probably appreciate you throwing yourself less into your work and allowing her more of your time."

"I sleep at her side while she cannot be moved," Jalal replied absently, concentrating on reading his opponent's footwork, "and I have realized that I became complacent about the situation I am in as emperor. It is best that I focus on ensuring no other minister or lordling takes it into his head to try and assassinate me or finish my wife off."

"Only consider how she must feel, left alone every day in the same room where she almost died. What terrors that must bring in her during her waking hours, let alone her rest."

Jalal's sword arm went almost limp at his side as Chughtai's words hit him--it was only Chughtai's own skill with a blade that he didn't end up wounding Jalal, staying his hand at the last moment. Jalal's weapon fell from nerveless fingers as he forgot to even make his excuses to leave. Distantly he heard his companion chuckling to himself but couldn't find it in himself to retort.

Jodhaa was awake when he entered her temporary sick-room, bearing with him her aarti tray with not a little shyness. She had not asked for it, not even to her own attendants, but at the same time--

"I apologize if you have been lonely," he said quietly, making his way through to her and kneeling at her side, "my thoughts have been too much occupied with other things. Hopefully you can forgive me?"

"I do, my lord," his wife replied, voice as drowsy as it had ever been over the last few days. Jalal forced a smile and swallowed back his nerves as he settled in to be comfortable. He'd learned the basics of her daily puja--enough that she smiled at him when he joined her in the mornings, enough that he did not embarrass himself with what was required of him to participate. Jodhaa had always led him before now.

He muddled his way through, though, and Jodhaa's eyes on him were tender when he finished applying her vermillion. Jalal gently set her tray aside and reached for her less injured hand. She had improved enough that only if her wounds bled through the bandages were the physicians called--they said she could be moved in the next few days, all remarking how she had been blessed with where the blade had gone through her. All this meant that now they were mercifully alone and Jalal's next question would only embarrass the two of them rather than some unfortunate interloper.

"May I ask you to stay in my rooms while you recover?" He had other great but simple things he wanted from her, certainly, but knew some of them were a little beyond where he and his wife were at the moment. His name, for one thing, he wanted her to call him by his name. Haltingly, weeks ago, he had asked Mahesh Das why Jodhaa never once called him by anything save some title or politeness--" _it is believed it will shorten the husband's life, you may as well hope for snow to come down in high summer, Shahenshah_ ," the man had chuckled. Someday, though, Jalal promised himself he would coax her into speaking it, even just once might appease him.

"If that is what you wish," Jodhaa said quietly in reply to his question and Jalal couldn't help but shake his head and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"I ask because I want to know _your_ wishes, Jodhaa, because I already know my own. I can't abide by your wishes unless I know them." He loved her and it should not be so difficult to speak of the feeling, but his tongue was tied so he had to find ways to talk around it.

His wife's eyes had a far away look to them and Jalal set his jaw against whatever disappointment she meant to give him. Jodhaa was never harsh with him, never gave her unvarnished opinions whenever they spoke, and she had kept him at arms length for so long it now appared hard for her to say things he might not like to hear. Jalal wondered, not for the first time since Adham had stabbed first Khan Baba and then Jodhaa, if he would have been able to remain so collected after so grave an injury.

"I admit...I have been resting better when I know I am not alone, especially when," she paused and took a short, fortifying breath, "when you are here with me. But I do not want to anger Mah--anyone, or shock them with some lack of decorum."

Finding himself suddenly unable to meet her gaze he gently stroked the back of her hand, marveling at the softness of her skin and admiring her elegant fingers.

"I do not think I can shock everyone more than I already have at this point," Jalal said carefully, "and the prevailing feeling in the court after learning of the attack is one of sympathy and well-wishing towards their Empress. My punishment of Adham for his actions taught them what it means to feel otherwise."

"You must not trample on their feelings, husband."

"And they must not forget who sits the throne," he countered, now looking away from her with something bordering on a sulk. She had the right of it though--he could not afford to step on _too_ many toes in the long term--but in the aftermath of these last several days he had had a great deal of leeway. His wife had almost been murdered before his eyes and Jalal did not intend to ever allow such violence to rear its head so close to his family ever again. The seriousness of Jodhaa's injuries merited the swiftness and surety of his actions in the eyes of all men capable of reason.

Men who could not comprehend his fury were not ones he was interested in explaining himself to.

"If you do not mind the trouble," Jodhaa said quietly, giving his hand a brief squeeze to get his attention, "I would prefer to stay with you."

"It is no such trouble at all, Jodhaa," Jalal smiled, glad when she returned one of her own.

Jalal was roused early the next day--Ni'mat begged an audience with him, most urgently. Her hands could not seem to still, fretting relentlessly, as she greeted him. Behind her by a few paces were two of Jodhaa's ladies, Neelakshi and Salima, the latter with tears coming down her cheeks.

"Shahenshah, you must maintain your reserve, I beg you, and do not let your own thoughts cloud your mind until you have heard all we have to say," Ni'mat said, "you and Mallika-e-Hindustan have been preserved in safety, thanks be to Allah, and there is no danger."

The letter Salima handed to him, her fingers trembling, he could not read and did not open--the little vial of poison was icy cold in his palm where Ni'mat laid it down. Maham Anga had had them stolen from Jodhaa's belongings, finding them laying neatly side by side. She had bid Salima to have the letter sent, but the order had not yet been carried out when Jodhaa was attacked. Ni'mat bid Neelakshi to speak then:

"The letter was written weeks before the wedding, Shahenshah," the woman said, fingertips pinched to white at the edge of her veil, "and the Empress' own mother gave her the vial, so she might protect herself from..." the pause was telling enough: to protect herself from defilement by a Mughal. But--

"She did not drink it before the wedding because of your promises to her, she trusted you to preserve her honor." --Trust one of Jodhaa's ladies to find the most diplomatic way of giving bad news.

"Then why did she keep it? Or the letter?"

"She has not opened the trunk these were stored in since she arrived. Your gifts have been plentiful enough the Empress has not needed the silks and jewels stored there. I truly believe she has forgotten she has them."

Jalal closed his eyes, thinking on the things he had given to Jodhaa. Things his mother implied a lady might like, or taking hints from letters his sister sent him--read aloud by an indulgent Atagai, or sometimes a less indulgent Maham Anga. Sometimes seeing the delicately worked gems of one courtier or another also would inspire him to set the royal jeweller some new task. Because of this Jodhaa nearly sparkled with her every movement. She had never let the luster dim on any gift of his--Jalal could well believe that there were trunks she had not touched in the months she had been here.

"To whom is the letter addressed?" he prayed it was not the Prince of Ajabghar. Jalal decided he could stand it if she still cared for the man but it would still be a blow to his heart. Allah answered his prayers, though, with the reply he received.

"To Rajkumar Sujamal, her brother, Shahenshah, when she still feared for her future here." Implying that she no longer felt such an anxiety.

He tucked the vial into his belt and then gently folded the letter so he might secret it away in the same manner. Perhaps these were what Maham Anga had meant when she'd spoken to him a few days previous--and she had had the right of it, back then. If she had produced these items as her proof he would have never believed her tale. Then it would have been because of his anger, but now it was because he knew Jodhaa was no assassin.

Jalal thanked each of the women for their services to his wife and to the Empire--though he added a gentle admonishment to Salima, for had she carried out Maham Anga's orders she might have brought ruin upon more than her Empress. All of the Rajputs looked anxiously towards how Amer fared in its alliance with his Empire--for if the marriage of the Emperor and Empress were to stumble it would mean the whole affair might topple.

The morning air was still cool, the grass in the garden pavilion sparkling with dew, and he breathed deeply as he walked--one hand pressed to his belt where his wife's clandestine belongings rested. Jalal was glad that Jodhaa had found the loyalty of Ni'mat, at least, and that she would no longer suffer for his blindness to the behavior of the woman he had called Badi Ami for almost his whole life. How had Maham Anga concealed such mischief for so long? What other secret plots had she carried out from within the safety of his shadow?

Jodhaa was just waking when he returned and he knelt at her side, helping her arrange the pillows so she might sit up a little bit. The physicians fussed that she still should not move too much yet, her wound continued to be at risk of reopening, but they allowed her this much at least. Jalal once again tripped his way through her morning puja before laying his hand atop her bandaged one where it rested on her middle.

"What I have to say now is important, Jodhaa, and you must not be frightened. There is nothing to fear, not from one who cherishes you so deeply. Do you understand?"

His wife nodded, moving her fingers just slightly so she captured the tip of his thumb between them. With a fortifying breath--he owed a debt to Ni'mat for her courage in bringing the failed scheme to light--Jalal reached into his belt with his free hand and brought out the little golden vial and the letter.

"These were stolen from your chambers," he began, quickly shushing her gasp of terror and surprise, "don't worry, don't worry, I only want to return them to you. The ones who gave them to me only meant to protect you, too, and the thief is banished. I only ask...I only ask that if you decide you cannot bear it here to tell me and I shall send you home. I love you too much to survive it if you took refuge in this little vial." The last words fell from his lips before he could stop them, but he felt no embarrassment for saying them. Jodhaa's eyes sparkled and a slow smile unfurled on her face, biting her lip for just a moment.

"You love me?"

"What kind of fool would I be to feel otherwise?" he laughed, his tone nervous and his heart quick in his chest as he gave back the poison and the letter addressed to Prince Sujamal back to Jodhaa. He would not be able to control what she did with them but instead Jalal had to trust her to know herself. He'd made his wishes known, at least, and that would have to be enough. Trust. She had trusted in him this far, he could put trust in her too.

"I am glad. I had worried...I had worried you could not. That the most I might ever seek from you would be your respect," her voice wavered, hesitating, before she finished speaking, "that if I gave my heart I would be alone in doing so."

He lifted her hand and kissed where her knuckles peeked through the bandages there.  

"Khan Baba always said," Jalal fought back a sudden sting of tears at the memory of Atagai, "Khan Baba always said that there is bravery in fighting alone" he said, gingerly turning her hand to kiss her palm as well, "but that the greatest courage comes from fighting together. I think we can adapt his words for ourselves, don't you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you like how this ends!

Jalal resisted giving in to anger when he learned that Jodhaa summoned Maham Anga to her side the following day. He had promised he would trust her, he had told her he loved her, and he had to live up to those words. His wife knew herself and could conduct her own affairs. If anything her actions marked a return to her duties as Empress.

That didn't mean he failed to ask her what she'd spoken about with the woman who had been his Badi Ami.

Jodhaa was being propped up by Salima and Nargis while one of the doctors, Farhad, unwrapped her right hand and arm. Jalal permitted himself one glance at the lacerations--deep and jagged, the skin around them swollen, red and angry. So much risk for infection and fever to set in, and yet his wife continued to heal. She had been left very weak from the blood loss and needed help sitting fully upright, but would recover fully--and Farhad assured them both that she would not lose any use of her hands.

"She is leaving the Red Fort to enjoy her old age," Jodhaa said in reply to his hedging questions, "and I will not have the chance to speak with her again after she goes." Jalal did not glance at the people around them, and neither did he object to her choice of words. Among others his wife put a perfect front meant to keep servants and courtiers at a distance. He admired her skill with it for Bairam Khan had never made it his focus--only Maham Anga and Atagai Khan had spent any time teaching him how to be diplomatic and reserved before those he ruled over.

"Did you find her well?" Jalal had not seen Maham Anga since their conversation the day after Adham's execution. He'd felt no desire to. She had betrayed him, she had betrayed the Empire, she had had her son attack the Prime Minister and the Empress.

"She was full of sorrow, at her urging her son was meant to confess a transgression against the Empire. Instead of obeying his mother, though, Adham Khan parted her from both of her sons forever. The lady cannot fathom what spurred him towards murder and she grieves that darkness."

Jalal swallowed past a sudden knot in his throat and clenched his jaw to stave off tears. For all his anger, the love he'd borne Maham Anga for his entire life was still there, though, and growled in confusion as his heart warred with his head. His head insisted that his wife had been fed lies--his heart insisted that Badi Ami would _never_ contemplate lying to him or anyone he held dear. The cool voice of Maham Anga counseled him that his heart was not always the best judge and to rely on what his head told him. Especially in regard to actions that could not easily be interpreted.

"I bid her to seek comfort in her faith, my own has always provided for me and I must assume the same of your Allah," Jodhaa said when it was clear he was not going to speak on his own.

He nodded, breathing deeply to move himself past the tumult of his spirit. Farhad started wrapping Jodhaa's arm up once more, his movements efficient and clinical. Not one of the doctors had dared voice any opposition towards directly treating the Empress--his frantic threats the day of her attack still loud in many ears. Farhad had stepped forward as Jodhaa's primary physician, distinguishing himself from the others by his quiet and direct manner in explaining his treatments and how well Jodhaa was responding to them. The man's only reservation was that he resisted addressing Jodhaa directly, preferring to inform her ladies or even Jalal himself.

"Shahenshah, I believe that unless the wound above her lung bleeds between now and tomorrow morning that the Empress will be able to be moved from this room. If she does bleed, though, it may be another few days before she has healed enough. The placement of the wound was not immediately fatal but as you know it was a near thing."

"It is better we err on the side of caution, then," Jalal replied, resisting the urge to clench his fists with nerves. The doctors had explained in great detail _why_ Jodhaa could not be moved. If the wound were to disturb any veins or arteries close by then his wife might bleed out in minutes and nothing would be able to be done for her. Worse, also, if a vein were opened and she bled internally--she would die gasping for air as blood squeezed her lungs closed.

"Patience is sometimes the best medicine, you will find," Farhad said, moving now to stand and leave the room, the barest hint of a smile touching his face.

Moving the Empress to his own set of rooms days later caused quite the stir, with several of the court clerics complaining bitterly that it was against decency and that it would invite unintended consequences--with not only the lords of the court but the common people of the Empire. Jalal pressed the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he listened, clamping his jaw shut throughout their tirades, and held in his heart the way Jodhaa had relaxed back into his bed and fallen asleep nearly immediately the afternoon before. When the men had worn out their voices he made his case.

"If I were a poor man making my living in the city not one of you would look askance at the idea of my wife sleeping in the safety of my own bed chamber," he waited a beat before continuing, "the best and most loyal wife will sleep where her husband commands her to, and many men have only the sanctuary of a single room to offer--a man's riches, or the mantle his father gave him, or the titles other men know him by, do not make him moral or pious.."

He had not meant for the morning to become a public discussion of the merits of purdah, the plight of the poor, or the inexorable forces of society--but Jalal gave as good as he got for the next several hours. The various men who advised him tried to use the traditions of his forefathers to support themselves, tried to use his faith against him--even tried to use _Jodhaa's_ faith--tried to shame him, tried to outwit him, one man even edging toward a hint that the Emperor had never himself _read_ the writings of holy men nor even the Qur'an. But Jalal had never backed down from a fight he felt he could win and he did not back down that afternoon. Finally a sheikh was summoned, one named Salim of Sikri, and the man arrived just after the afternoon prayers had been observed.

The old man listened intently as Todar Mal--deemed the most capable of being impartial, for his family lived far from the Red Fort and he rarely saw them--explained the day's debates.

"It appears to me the Emperor has the right of it. How wretched must a cobbler feel when his rich client waxes long about his own devoutness and piety for enshrouding and protecting his wives and daughters behind high walls and guarded doors--when that same cobbler is lucky if his sons sleep on the roof and his daughters sleep in the kitchen? Each man must shield and protect his family, with attention paid to those most vulnerable, but no man may say what is the correct way to accomplish this. Moreover the strength of faith is not in the flaunting of it, to show the world how your devotion glitters, but in the trust it brings about in one's fellow man."

The old man's eyes twinkled at the court then as he made his final comment:

"How comforting it will be to Hindu and Muslim alike that the Emperor chooses the path of humility in his marriage. That he so confidently partakes of the same rich and close affection afforded to the poorest in his empire. That he does not hold himself so far above the way they live their private lives. Why, you have all been carrying on as though the Emperor decreed that he intended to steal every veil from the head it covers, tear down every purdah curtain from its hooks, demolish every women's palace, and set fire to the zenana of every home from Delhi to Holy Mecca. How childish, how trite, to waste your time upon a matter that could not affect you less than where a husband bids his wife to spend her days."

Jalal was enthralled, his courtiers embarrassed and abashed, his advisors nodding agreement at the old sufi's wisdom--and the matter was finally regarded as settled.

That evening as he readied for bed Jodhaa chided him that he hadn't been _entirely_ honest in his dealings--that he had asked her, not commanded her, to finish her convalescence in his rooms--but her smile could not be contained as he told her of his debates. That smile made him feel less of a fool and relax into his innate stubbornness. Jalal had known he was right, had known it the day before as he helped the litter bearers carry Jodhaa to his bedroom, had known it when he first awoke today to see his green ceiling and heard Jodhaa's soft breathing.

Now he sat beside her and let her hold his hand. How fraught the last fortnight had been--his nightmares of Adham were not so strong as Jodhaa's but the look on his brother's face would haunt him. Adham and his mother would have had their own sharp words for Jalal's decision to move Jodhaa out of the women's palace. Without his meaning to an image of Jodhaa, trapped under the curtain and trying to defend herself from being slashed to ribbons, flashed through his mind and caused him to flinch. Jodhaa moved her free hand to cover his.

"What if I can't keep you safe even here?" he asked, suddenly full of doubt. Not once today had anyone dared to suggest he could not keep his wife safe if she were attacked, and somehow his mind had avoided the idea entirely. He couldn't know if it was cowardice or clarity--in the midst of a battle doubt had no room amidst the thunder of flintlocks and cannon.

"If an assassin makes his way into even these rooms mine is not likely the life he means to end," Jodhaa said, her tone practical. Jalal choked on a laugh, leaning back on the pillows now and staring up at his ceiling.

"The thing is, though, that people have been trying to kill me since before I was even born," he replied, "I am quite accustomed to it. You are the one I worry for."

" _Before_ you were even born?" she asked, not engaging with his fretting.

"My parents were forced to flee to Amarkot, there was too much danger in Delhi and in Kabul for them to remain. I was born there," he said, closing his eyes and smiling faintly, "Atagai Khan said my father took me outside at dawn the day I was born and touched my feet to the earth, promising that I would never miss the feeling of it beneath me."

Jalal left unsaid that it was perhaps the first of many promises that his father had left unfulfilled. Jodhaa did not need to comfort him through what was ultimately a wound long healed over. Instead he turned onto his side and fixed his eyes on his wife. He wondered what kind of future he would forge for his people with her.

He hoped it was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Again, thank you for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought! This is complete but I didn't want to just post all 8k words of it in one go.


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